Page 84 of Dear Mr. Brody
He turned away and looked out his window. The guilt ate at me. He was nosy and intrusive, but it came from a place of concern. I’d known him long enough to have thought otherwise. He was my mother hen.
“It’s different with him,” I said. His glossy lips twitched, fighting to keep quiet and I smiled. “Say what you want to say.”
“How is it different?” he asked, facing me again. “I swear to God, you never tell me anything anymore. Tell me all the romantic shit,mijo. I need it. My love life is nonexistent. I need to live vicariously through you.”
Laughing, I pulled off the interstate and stopped at the red light. “I don’t need more with him. I mean, we fuck around, and it’s hot as hell, but I like just spending time with him too. I like being with him in any capacity. It feels easy, Marcos… we click. I don’t need to fuck him to know that.”
Being us was enough.
I liked how Van would always put his head in my lap on the nights we’d watch a movie. And how excited he’d get when Anne brought home art from school, hanging it on his fridge like my mom used to do for me. I’d only hung out with him and his daughter a few times, but each time, I’d gotten to see him without any guards up. When he was with his daughter, I got to see him—just him. And he was beautiful. After the night I’d opened up to him about my assault, something between us had changed. I’d never told anyone besides Marcos about what had happened to me. And I hadn’t planned on telling Van either. At least not that soon. But he had a funny way of getting me to talk about all the things I’d locked up tight, of making me believe I was more than I thought I could be. Especially when it came to my writing, and when he’d kissed me that night, all I’d felt was relief. Relief and fire, and every time I had a chance to be in his orbit, I took it. I took it because I couldn’t stop the pull, that tugging sensation that tied me to him in ways I’d never felt before. I’d spent a lot of time hiding from something serious, but when I looked at him, I thought maybe I’d just been waiting.
“I don’t want to push him, Marcos. Yeah, it’s been a little over a month, but we’re still figuring everything out. And I... I think he’s someone I could see myself ending up with.”
“Like forever?”
“Hell… I don’t know.”
“Aww.” Marcos raised his hand to his heart. “He gives you the butterflies.”
“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.”
“Oh… I’m totally making fun of you.” He laughed when I playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Parker Mills with the heart eyes, I would have never thought.”
“I do not have heart eyes.”
“Marcos, I think he could be the one.” He spoke in a high-pitched voice and batted his lashes. “I like spending time with him.” He cracked up, barely containing his glee, and wiped his fingers under his eyes. “Haven’t even gotten the ass, and you’re whipped.”
“Have you always been this immature?” I asked and chuckled when he nodded.
“Always.” He inhaled, trying to catch his breath. “Fuck off, you love me. I keep you young.”
“I guess.”
“I do have a serious question.”
“That terrifies me.”
“Do you think he’s going to let you top him?” He waggled his brows, and I shook my head.
“That’s your serious question?” I ignored his incredulous look and made a left when the light turned green. “We haven’t really talked about that yet, and I haven’t even stayed an entire night there, man. Taking it slow is okay. Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Itispossible for two men to be together and not fuck.”
“I know.” He wrinkled his nose. “To each his own and everything. You do you.”
“I hate you,” I said, smiling when he gave me the middle finger. “I should have left you at home.”
“Your momma loves my ass. Besides, you have no idea how to use a sewing machine.”
“I can’t believe you want to make all the costumes for this play.”
“Why? I get to make clothes and do make-up, it’s basically my dream job. Except for the whole not getting paid thing.”
“You do realize that’s the entire purpose of volunteering… service.”
“Whatever. Pride House is lucky to have me.”